Julie sat in her living room, drinking heavily. She knew that she and Carleton were through. There was no way they could ever continue with Reg haunting their every move. And now, having to pay him on a regular basis put an even greater strain on the relationship. Carleton wasn't about to cover the entire cost himself. She drained her glass and went to make another drink when the door knocker banged.

Julie opened the door and froze.

"Hi, Mrs. Devers. May I come in?" Jorge stepped into the house and went straight to the living room. Julie followed, staying by the hall entry. "You know who I am, right?" She did. The voice was distinctive. She nodded. "Good, good. C'mon in, sit down. Let's have a drink and chat." He sank onto the mammoth sofa and picked up her glass. "You've had some already." The smile frightened her to death.

"What do you want? Reg isn't here."

"Well you see, that's what I want to know. Why isn't Reg here, and where were you two planning to run off to?"

"Run off? I don't—"

"I'd like that drink, Mrs. Devers." Jorge gave her a brittle stare. Julie hurried across the room and splashed liquor into a glass, turning and handing it to him.

"Get yourself another."

She did.

"Now, tell me what I want to know and we can enjoy our drinks together."

"I don't know what you mean. We weren't running anywhere."

"Okay then have it your way, where can I find your husband?"

"For God's sake..." Julie waved an arm. "Probably drinking at his favourite watering hole. The Avocado grotto."

He drained his glass, set it down and grabbed her arm before she could react, spilling her own drink and pulling her down across his lap. Her broken bone shrieked pain and Julie screamed.

"Don't be such a sissy." Jorge quickly stuffed a hanky into her mouth and then leaned across her back while he dug out his knife. "I'm only going to ask one question and you will answer with either a nod or a shake of your head. Understood?" She nodded, sobbing into the hanky.

"Where is Reg?"

Julie was petrified. She didn't know how to answer that with a nod or a shake. If she said yes and he found out it was a lie, what would happen? If she said no...? She shook her head. The pain was excruciating, and her eyes bugged as she choked into the hanky jammed in her mouth. It moved like a wire through her back and deep inside her chest.

She felt light-headed and then more pain as the wire seemed to continue through to her heart. Her last sensation was of a hand patting her on the backside.

Day 9 of 9 Days

Cynthia was in a state. She was angry, upset and scared... very scared. The letter from her father's attorney had arrived announcing the legal proceedings underway against the trust set up by her grandfather. The part stating that the trust was fraudulent and had been illegally tampered with almost gave her a stroke.

Her father would see that she received no further funds from the company and possibly even order a freeze on her accounts. For an entire year she had been plotting, planning and scheming for nothing! Now she was in the clutches of Bernie Bonducci who expected her to make good on his money, money she didn't even owe let alone have!

With Jarmon in hospital, and unable to handle his financial decisions, she saw a glimmer of hope of maybe getting her hands on enough money to keep out of trouble. She paced back and forth, oblivious to the fact that she was spilling her drink on the carpet, mainly because it was because of her concentration on the capture and execution of Reg Devers, the cause of all her recent grief.

The intercom buzzer sounded and she jerked to a halt, surprised by the interruption.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Wyatt, this is the concierge, we have a delivery for you. May we bring it up?"

"A delivery? Uh- yes, I guess. Yes, bring it up, Humphrey."

The concierge rapped lightly and entered the suite, placing the delivery on the table and handing Cynthia an envelope. He bowed and left. Cynthia read the sentiment on the card, her cheeks colouring with embarrassment. She carried the flowers to the kitchen and dropped them in the sink; floral displays were not something she really cared for.

The face-off with her father receded in the wake of this latest concern. Bernie was making the first move in their agreed upon alternate currency. She returned to the living room, flipping the card thoughtfully over her lips and reached for the phone.

"Yeah."

"Mr. Bonducci- Bernie, thank you for such a delightful surprise." She sank onto the sofa, drawing her legs up underneath her, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Huh? Ooohh, Mrs. Wyatt. Right. So you got them okay?"

"I did, they're gorgeous, and the card was... encouraging." She read it again as she awaited his reply.

"So then we can begin our alternate negotiation." Bernie's voice smoothed slightly, sliding down the wire and into her ear like warm cream.

"I was hoping there might still be a chance of reconsidering the original amount." She clamped her eyes shut and gritted her teeth.

"Nothing sours a relationship more than when one of the parties tries to renege." Warm cream turned to ice slush.

"Bernie, I received a letter today from my father's company stating that because of some litigation they are proceeding with, my funds will be frozen along with an end to my allowance. I won't have a dime to give you even though I agreed to pay."

"You know what, Cynthia, I'm more than a little tired of screwing around with you people. I want to see this letter and then I'm going to have it verified and if there is any hint of funny business you will find yourself in some serious trouble."

"I'm telling the truth. You can come and see it any—"

"Oh no. I'm not coming anywhere. You get your taught little bum over to suite seventeen-oh-nine at the Dunbar by two o-clock sharp." He hung up.

The Dunbar! Cynthia bit down on a long, enamelled nail, the shift in her stomach bordering on queasy.

Bernie threw his cigar cutter across the room and swore aloud in his native tongue. First he gets the news that old Reg and his wife are planning to skip and now he gets this tale about litigation and frozen funds. What the hell ever happened to intimidation? This had all gone far enough. Way to far enough. He grabbed up the phone and dialled a familiar number.